Through gritted teeth I woke up at 5am to drive towards Brean, a location I've somehow avoided since Sanditon and The Last Bus. And yet, the roads there still felt familiar, not dissimilar to driving home for Christmas. Any joy evaporated once the day itself started as it was a busy old day for us all. But we're are all counting down the days til our next break.
Furthering my mini quest to watch a new Christmas Carol version every year Rebecca and I watch the first ever talkie retelling called Scrooge from 1935. The joy of seeing any adaptation of A Christmas Carol is how they present the three spirits, especially in these older iterations. This version's Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come is so lo-fi but so effective that I'm shocked I haven't seen the trick repeated anywhere else. Otherwise this was a brisk and cosy retelling thanks to how legitimately 'Victorian' it still felt - a sooty, snowy postcard of a film.
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